Alchemy
by Katie Havok
Summary: Her Newt is the fullness of the earth, the promise of renewal after a long and hard winter. His Tina is the fallow field, the welcome embrace of nighttime.
1. Chapter 1

Her Newt is the fullness of the earth, the promise of renewal after a long and hard winter.

He enters her life during winter, a bronze whirlwind of gangling limbs and floppy red hair and the most remarkable _golden_ eyes she's even seen. Her initial feeling toward him is a supreme annoyance: he is disrupting the peace she sacrificed herself to maintain, but he does it in such an affable fashion that she can't quite hold it against him.

He is exasperating in his single-mindedness (and maybe part of her annoyance is because she recognizes that trait in herself), babbling on about his case, and she finds him to be wholly inept with people. He attempts to get away from her when she drags him and the No-Maj home, but his protests are either token, or he truly is terrible at subterfuge. Despite her grudging admiration for his convictions, he is still _technically_ a criminal, and she can't let that slide.

Still, with the inevitability of a solstice, it all...shifts. It gets _away_ from her. She feeds them both (the No-Maj and her radiant sister strike up instant chemistry, _of course_ , while drab, prickly Porpentina is spent entertaining a man who grimaces and yanks his eyes away every time he looks at _her_ ) and is relieved when they are no longer actively hostile. Until there's a moment when the sky has darkened and the apartment is gently shadowed, he catches her gaze and _holds it_.

In the flickering light of the candle, he is freckles and a shy smile, and nearly too bright to look at; Tina realizes with a jolt that she's falling into his orbit. She thinks maybe she has been all evening.

In the winter of her soul, Tina feels the first thaw of impending spring.

* * *

When he leaves her at the docks, it is as though the sun has gone from her sky. She knows she isn't in love with him; the plain sister doesn't get to entertain such romantic notions. But, she also knows that she is in _something_ with him because the spring thaw he has awakened in her is frozen in stasis, waiting for the return of his warmth.

He writes, and it brightens her world temporarily. He transcribes for her extraordinary tales of his beasts; he keeps her apprised of his progress with the book (frustration with his slow pace bleeding from each line). In between these words, hidden in the subtext, he tells her others things: that he misses her terribly; that he misses their easy companionship and the cool breeze she visits upon his restless soul. These ideas are not explicit, but she understands them anyway. They're evidenced in the subtle evolution of his salutation, and there in the extravagant curl he uses when he signs his name ( _Ever Yours, Newt_ —and it never fails to warm her).

The day comes when he informs her of his impending arrival, and his relief spills from the parchment. His obvious joy is enough to transpose _her,_ and her co-workers don't seem to know what to make of this newly luminous Tina. She takes to marking off the days on her calendar, each stroke of her quill heralding a new season—and with each line, her smile grows a little brighter, a little stronger.

She arrives hours early on the appointed day and tilts her face toward the May sky, warmed at last.

* * *

Her Newt is the sun.

On their bed of stars, she is free of winter's chill. Sheltered in the ring of his arms, his hands and mouth are molten as he finds her frozen crevices and _thaws_ them. He is heat and vitality pressed into her, and she is helpless but to dissolve under the onslaught. Their intimate connection _burns_ until it can no longer be contained, and is released from them in a supernova of purifying heat and light and names offered up in prayer. Then it's over, and he is there to catch and sooth her.

Tina melts into him and basks in his warmth, both within and without.


	2. Chapter 2

His Tina is the fallow field, the welcome embrace of nighttime.

She is snow and cool rain, and being in her presence tempers the fire that burns within, banking the coals and leaving them to shimmer. His annoyance with the entire situation is at odds with the fact that she is, in her own drab way, _remarkably_ like him. He can't hold that against her. Not when he recognizes her passion and matches it with his own.

She brings them to The Blind Pig to visit a potential informant. He may have just saved their lives, but he's starting to think that she has saved his _heart_ —so it's no surprise when her clothes Transfigure and he's struck dumb in wonder. The look they share, equal parts apology and fragile hope, leads him to realize she understands his discomfort implicitly.

In the low light of the club, Tina _glows_. She is moonstone skin and Stygian eyes and raven-wing hair, vibrant against a backdrop that is rendered gray and gray and gray. Her skin, white as a snow-covered field, implores him to touch and explore. The red of her lips entices him to dip in and drink of her, to discover if she is as _cool_ as she appears. Controlling his expression costs him, and he knows his stoicism bewilders Tina—but he refuses to profane her, so he keeps his eyes carefully away for both their sakes.

She hasn't offered herself to him yet, but the subtext is in every gesture; he is confident she will, and he is a patient man.

* * *

His time spent in London is an indeterminable test of his patience. Being around Tina had soothed him in a way no person before was able; separated from her now, he _burns_ on the inside. The feelings aren't new, but the sense of urgency that accompanies it is, so he works like a man possessed to produce a printable copy of his book.

Between daily, sometimes hourly correspondences with his nominal bosses at the Ministry and myriad publishing houses, he scribbles and scrabbles at his notes and hammers away on his rusting typewriter. He stains his hand's black producing sketch after sketch and survives on little sleep and less food. Her name beats a steady refrain in the back of his head, and he can't allow himself to stop until his task is complete and he can go _home._

(Pickett and Dougal gang up on him occasionally to force him to eat something more substantial than tea and biscuits. He puts up a token resistance, but when they are successful in wearing him down he eats like a man half-starved only to collapse into his cot for 14 hours. Then he wakes at dawn and the cycle begins again.)

Occasionally, there are nights when he simply _cannot_ find another thing to say about the breeding habits of the Nundu, or further expand upon the properties of Swooping Evil venom. On those nights, he allows himself the luxury of resting. He prepares himself a bachelor's supper and settles before the hearth, armed with parchment and his favorite tea, and writes to Tina.

Though he doesn't realize it, he puts his heart into every stroke of his pen.

* * *

His Tina is the moon.

Pressed to her lunar curves, he finds succor for his yearnings. He glides over cool peaks and dark valleys as she draws him in and presses them together. She comforts and offers sanctuary until he is helpless but to accept, slaking himself at her well. She gives and he takes and takes and takes, drinking her in until she no longer quenches but _feeds_. Their shared alchemy ignites and consumes until it cannot be contained and he is released, pouring into her—and she accepts and welcomes him. Then it's over, and they are reprieved.

He presses close and rejoices in being _home_.

* * *

 **Author's note** : You can find me on Tumblr (username: katiehavok) if that's your thing. I would recommend seeking me out there—it's the best place to find me if you wish to keep track of my works, and I _always_ accept prompts and requests for Newt/Tina and Newt/Queenie. Thanks, as always, to Kemara for beta-reading and general encouragements.


End file.
